Triton 1: Terrors Burst The Skies
by Xeris
Summary: As Captain Astar gathers her new command crew for the launch of the Lunaclass starship USS Triton NCC 80210, a familiar and deadly weapon is detonated near the Black Cluster and her crew are the only hope for the Federation to stop a new threat.


**Star Trek: Triton**

**Book One**

**Terrors burst the skies**

**© 2006 Marc Hart **

**Somewhere deep in Breen Space, Stardate 57092.2**

The asteroid field contained planetoids perfect for Breen habitation without the environmental suits that they needed to wear constantly on most worlds in their domain, and Thot Mol would have been content to stay there but his duty dictated otherwise. The end of the Dominion War had caused a catastrophic shift in the Confederacy's political make-up and the military—which had held the power in various forms for the last six decades—was becoming more and more unpopular with the people. They had overthrown a tyrant in a military coup, but over time the politicians had focused more on expansion and less on the people. When Thot Gor made the deal with the Dominion to hold Romulan and Federation space if the Dominion was successful, Mol knew that he needed to have safeguards in place if that failed. His foresight proved accurate as Thot Gor fell to the Dominion's whims and the Dominion themselves lost the war.

Thot Mol now stood in the primary orbital complex that comprised the only active shipyard anywhere in Confederacy space. He looked out at the construction docks and saw that his flagship, the _Hevn_, was finished. It was a departure from standard Breen configurations, having an elliptical shape instead of the standard "T" formation, and looking like nothing so much as the curved _aremabom_ that his people used millennia ago hunting in the icy wastelands of the homeworld. Within the next few hours his fleet would be ready to depart and his mission would begin. Over the last few decades the rebel uprisings on the homeworld had spread to the outlying colony worlds and a dissident movement had formed in its wake, growing in strength even before the war. He would put an end to the rebellion decisively and use it as a platform for his bid to take over the Federation puppet regime. Only defensive vessels were now allowed to patrol Breen territory, no warships, and their army had been reduced to a measly twenty million, down from two hundred million.

Mol was not impressed with how easily Thot Pran had acceded to the Federation's treaty stipulations but did understand the necessity, from their point of view. The majority of his secret fleet underwent manoeuvres daily and today was no exception. He watched as the fleet, all except his warship, formed the new standard tactical formation. A dozen destroyers, twenty frigates and five squadrons of high-warp-capable fighters spread out around the orbital complex, surrounding it. This would be the last day that the fleet did these manoeuvres as the lights on the construction dock housing his warship faded. He could not allow this shipyard to fall into enemy hands, Breen or otherwise, and intended to destroy it. Touching a control pad on his arm, Mol beamed directly to the bridge of the _Hevn_. It wasn't luxurious, the some older warships were. The only real luxury was his command chair and his personal quarters, of which the latter contained all the artefacts he had collected from his personal annexation of worlds for the Confederacy.

His most prized possession was a carving of a creature swimming through space that had been made by a child on the last world he conquered. He'd kept it because his superior officer at the time had killed the child a day later because of an imagined slight. Mol had been embezzling funds for years for the express purpose of building a personal no-frills fleet, its sole purpose to eliminate threats to the Confederacy and take control of the government. What galled him most of all about the government is that they continued to tax the people heavily as if the war was still going on. Some Breen lived in poverty because of the division of wealth and he found it untenable. There had been a steady stream of vessels coming and going from the homeworld over the last ten years, taking people away and relocating them, because scientists had predicted that the primary would go nova in a few years. The continuous use by the Confederacy of using the primary's gases to generate power over the centuries had taken its toll and the people were going to suffer the highest, as usual.

But even as that was happening, Mol was using his abilities for the good of the Confederacy and created an energy-dampening weapon that destroyed almost every ship hit with it. The Confederacy used that as a way to convince the Dominion of their use as allies. With the war over and the Confederacy on the brink of collapse, Mol had taken the opportunity to complete his fleet. The galaxy would once again tremble at the sound of the Breen, as they had done millennia ago. He would remove the puppet regime, take control of the government himself, and rebuild the military to overpower the still-defenceless Federation. The Confederacy would take the worlds his people needed, and find a new homeworld—if indeed the present one was to be uninhabitable shortly. Mol ordered the fleet to ready for departure and set the self-destruct sequence for the shipyard. As he did so, he also kept an eye on the news feeds, watching the news of the uprisings on the outlying Confederacy worlds and savoured the thought that within a few days at least one of those worlds would be under his control.

During a covert mission into Federation space a few years ago, one of his operatives from the Department of External Affairs returned with the plans for a powerful weapon that the Federation had tried and failed to utilise properly more than a century earlier. It had taken him less than a year working on those plans to discover the inherent flaws and fix them so the weapon worked to his full advantage. The Breen were experts in the field of quantum manipulation, among others, and Mol was able to create the weapon to be used for the might of the Breen. With the weapon now ready for deployment, Mol wanted to choose a world where the uprisings were particularly intense to send a message to the homeworld and the puppet government.

'Thot Mol, we are receiving a message from Confederacy Headquarters,' his second in command called from the communications console. 'We are to return home to face trial immediately.'

Mol scowled, although it could not be seen through the helmet. Someone in his fleet must have tipped Headquarters to his plan and he intended to discover the culprit, but the knowledge that the Regent might know about his plan—any part of it—was pleasurable in a kind of perverse way. 'What are the charges?'

'Just one charge, high treason,' Prethot Omdar answered, looking to his superior for orders.

'Ignore them, and search the fleet for anyone who might have betrayed us. No matter how many you find, I want them executed, publicly.'

'Yes, Thot; I'll get to it immediately,' Omdar replied.

'Where are the most dangerous uprisings occurring?'

'Oshel IX, Thot. Hundreds have been killed, many of them military personnel.'

'Are you sure the weapon will work?' Mol asked.

'I would prefer to test it first, sir.'

'Good idea; set a course for the Dead Space.'

'Why outside our territory?' Omdar asked, not sure whether such a large fleet would be safe.

'So it would not be attributed to us, of course.'

'I understand, Thot, though might I suggest that we travel alone to the Dead Space so as not to alert anyone about the fleet. The Gyshie Nebula can hide the rest of the ships until we return.'

'An excellent idea,' Mol said and opened a channel to his fleet. 'Our first target is the Dead Space. All vessels set a course for the Gyshie Nebula and hold station until our return. Engage at maximum warp.'

'The fleet has responded, Thot. They are preparing for departure.'

Mol turned to Omdar. 'Prepare for battle, alert level one. Maintain radio silence with the fleet until the test is complete.'

'Radio silence has been initiated.'

'Take us to the Dead Space. There are many worlds that we can test our weapon on, but I want a list of five inhabited worlds. We need to know what kind of effect the weapon will have on a native population.'

'I'll see to it immediately, Thot. You'll have the information before we arrive,' Omdar replied.

'Excellent. I'll be in my quarters. Notify me when we leave Confederacy territory.'

'Yes, Thot.'

The rogue fleet, comprising more than a hundred vessels, jumped to warp, heading for a nebula closest to the outer fringes of Confederacy space. A single fighter, its pilot listening in illegally, decided to follow the flagship and find out what was really going on. Minutes later, the shipyards exploded, leaving behind nothing but debris. In order for the pilot to follow the _Hevn_ without being detected, its pilot manoeuvred the small craft into a small crevice built into the hull for external work and attached a metallic clamp that would hold at high warp velocities. She had designed the clamp herself since beginning this mission and this had been her first opportunity to test it. If it worked and she was not torn to shreds by the immense forces, she knew that she could take the schematics back to her superior and have a new job, because she was starting to get tired of this one after almost a decade. Once the clamp was in place, the pilot settled into as comfortable a position as possible and waited.

_USS Monarch, somewhere in the beta quadrant, stardate 56900.7_

_The acrid stench of fused wiring and burnt polymers assaulted her nostrils as she came to. The dim red lighting on the bridge only served to heighten her anxiety and she tried to pull herself up, but was trapped by some immovable object. Her eyes adjusted to the minimal light and she turned her head slowly to look around. Only the Andorian operations manager was on his feet, and he was walking toward her. She was about to ask why most of the consoles were burnt out and why no one else was on the bridge when she saw the forcefield above her. It covered almost a third of the bridge. Lieutenant Talen knelt beside her._

'_Are you alright, Commander?' he asked, using his considerable strength to remove a duranium bulkhead off her torso._

'_Where's the captain,' she asked hoarsely and Talen involuntarily looked upward._

_He shook his head. 'I'm sorry, sir, but we're the only two left up here.'_

_With her newfound ability to move, Commander Leza Astar sat up, carefully checking her body over for any major cuts or scrapes. There were none and her symbiont didn't seem to have suffered any ill-effects. 'We have to reroute control to the tactical operations room.'_

'_It's gone,' Talen told her. 'All decks have suffered hull breaches, many of them major. Commander Xeris is in engineering trying to get auxiliary power back on line.'_

'_Did it work?'_

'_Yes, we're clear of the event horizon. The Klingons weren't so lucky.'_

'_They can rot in Grethor,' she muttered. 'It's their fault we're in this condition. Is our subspace communication array working?'_

_Talen nodded. 'Luckily, yes. Starfleet has been advised of our condition. We're to set course for Starbase 185 as soon as we are able. We'll be towed home if we cannot make it ourselves.'_

_Astar sighed. This ship had been through a lot since the end of the war, but this was the severest beating it had ever taken. 'How long is the refit expected to take?'_

_Talen looked away briefly. 'Command said they'll be decommissioning her, Commander.'_

'_What? Why?'_

'_Third refit in two years. They feel that she's better off being scrapped. We'll all be on leave until they decide what to do.'_

'_What is the casualty count?' she asked, trying to turn her mind away from the fact that after only six years of dedicated service, the ship was going to be scrapped._

_The Andorian sighed. 'The computer is only registering a little less than seven hundred people on board.'_

'_A fifth?' she gasped. 'We lost a fifth of our crew to those damned Klingons and that accursed black hole?'_

'_Yes ma'am.'_

**Arlington Cemetery, stardate 57092.4**

Leza Astar stood inside Arlington Cemetery beside the grave of Benjamin Walker and cried. That conversation had replayed in her mind hundreds of times over the last ten weeks and she was still no closer to forgiving the Klingons for what they had done. Chancellor Martok had apologised and stated that they were a rogue group, part of the fallen House of Duras, and she had accepted his personal apology.

She had served under Captain Walker for the last six years and mourned his death as she would one of her own people. He understood her in a way that few non Trill could. A light drizzle began to fall as a few more Starfleet personnel arrived to pay their respects. The cemetery was full of crosses in memorial of those who had died in the Dominion War (and as far back as the Earth-Romulan war in the mid-twenty-second century) ands whose bodies had never been recovered, like Ben Walker's. She wiped her eyes and stood back. Having told him all her troubles, she felt better about almost everything, although there was still one thing bothering her.

'Are you going to be here every day, Captain?'

Astar turned to face the newcomer. 'Are you keeping track of my movements, Admiral?' Astar asked.

Janeway smiled. 'Of course not, but I do need to know your answer.'

'I appreciate the honour,' Astar replied truthfully. 'I know a lot of captains are wishing they had the chance to take command of one of the new explorers, but I don't know if I can ever hold the responsibility in my hands anymore.'

Janeway sighed and sat on a nearby bench. 'We lost a lot of good people during the war, Captain, and many more resigned their commissions in the years since. I understand your position but let me just say that I would not have been able to offer you command of _Triton_ had Command not believed you fit for the duty. Medical Mental Health has given you a clean bill of health. She's almost leady to leave Spacedock, but I have to know whether you'll be taking her out or whether I need to find someone else. I waited over a month for Commander Riker to accept the position, but they were exigent circumstances. I've given you a lot of leeway because of the loss of your captain and your ship, and the leave you've been on. Crewmembers need to be assigned and the senior officers need assigning.'

Astar considered her options. 'Can I take my former shipmates aboard, Admiral?' she asked.

'Of course, if Captain Riker was able to pinch a large number of _Enterprise_ alumni, I see no reason why you can't,' Janeway told her.

Astar nodded. 'I'll take it. There is one other thing. I'm sure that the majority of lower decks personnel have been reassigned, and _Triton_ only has a crew of 350, but I'd like to take as many as possible across with me.'

'I'm afraid that won't be possible,' Janeway replied. 'Command has already assigned many of the personnel for _Triton_'s Delta Quadrant exploration mission, but you get your pick for the posts that are left. Here is a list of available officers, both internal and external. Try to have a complete crew before departure.'

Astar nodded again. 'Yes ma'am.'

Janeway smiled and stood up. 'Excellent, Captain, I'll see you at Headquarters tomorrow morning.'

'Yes sir, you will,' Astar answered. 'I'll deal with the senior staff first and then delegate the lower ranks to their respective divisions. How many of the external officers are in system?'

'Not many, you'll have to speak with some over subspace or just send messages. Goodnight, Captain,' Janeway said and left the cemetery.

Astar felt no need to remain and left a few minutes later, heading for the shuttle service which would take her home to Marseilles. From tomorrow morning she'd be busy and it would most likely be the last time she was at home before heading out to Utopia Planitia where her ship awaited her.

The damage wrought by the Breen on San Francisco five years before had all been repaired, including the Golden Gate Bridge, and Captain Astar smiled as she returned to the city where she once spent four long years. The shuttle brought her into the Headquarters spaceport and she headed straight for the Divisions of Operations where she'd be able to contact all those officers she needed to in order to fill the posts. Admiral Janeway was waiting for her and they entered together.

'I take it you want to fill your exec's post first?' Janeway asked.

'I do, but with all due respect, I don't think that I want Richard Papadopoulos on my ship. He has a nasty habit of getting officers killed, and I prefer to stay alive.'

'Nothing has ever been proved, Captain,' Janeway admonished half-heartedly.

Astar gave Janeway a sideways glance. 'That doesn't mean he's not guilty. I think Aaron Wright is a suitable candidate.'

Janeway frowned. 'He's the operations manager on the _Quebec_, isn't he?'

'Yes, and I took the liberty of going through his record. He deserves to be on the command track and would have been if not for his first commanding officer right out of the Academy.'

Janeway nodded. 'Alright, I'll accept that, but Papadopoulos is expecting that promotion.'

'Sir, he's been expecting a promotion since the destruction of the _Rushmore_ but no captain wants him. He would be perfect here at headquarters, he can't get anyone killed here.'

'I'll discuss that with Admiral Jellico. Are the others acceptable?'

'From what I looked at last night, they are.'

'Then I'll leave you to it, Captain.'

'Thank you, Admiral.'

As Janeway left to deal with issues relating to her own job, Astar realised that there would be only three humans on her command staff if the candidates all accepted. She entered the Division of Operations and went straight to one of the comm rooms to get the current locations of all the officers. Only one was currently in the Sol system and luckily for her it was the one at the top of the list. She contacted the captain of the _Quebec_ and had to wait while she was she transferred.

'Captain Astar?' Donald Jackson asked as her screen filled with his well-lined face.

'Yes, I wanted to speak with you about your Operations manager, Captain.'

'Go on.'

'I am recruiting new personnel for my command staff and I would appreciate your take on whether Lieutenant Commander Wright would be a capable exec.'

Jackson appeared taken aback but recovered quickly and smiled. 'I was hoping he would get the opportunity because his talents are wasted here. I wasn't aware that any Lieutenant Commander vacancies were available in that position.'

'There aren't,' Astar told him with a grin and his eyes brightened.

'Indeed, I believe he will relish the opportunity.'

'So I can take him then?'

'As long as he accepts, Captain. I will be gratified to know that he is going on to better things.'

'Thank you, Captain.'

'Thank _you_, Captain.'

'Will you have any trouble finding a replacement?'

'Not at all, I've had a replacement ready for some time, she just doesn't know it yet,' he answered. 'Will you be asking him yourself?'

'I should be there by 1030 hours.'

'I'll delay the departure for another day; tell the crew they have an extra day of shore leave.'

Astar smiled. 'I'm sure they'll appreciate it, Astar out.'

She logged herself out and took the next available shuttle to the orbital spacedock, Starbase 1. There were a large number of Starfleet officers from most ranks on the shuttle, heading for various destinations, both in-system and out, but she didn't know any of them by sight. Then again, she hadn't been a captain for long and had spent most of her life since leaving the academy nearly twenty years ago out in space, nowhere near the Sol system. She hadn't even been home to Trill, even after the devastating attack on the Caves of Makala, and her parents were worried about her. She had planned to go home but that wasn't going to be possible now that she had officially taken command of _Triton_. The shuttle felt like it was taking a long time but only half an hour had passed since she stepped aboard it.

The _Quebec_ was a Nebula-class vessel, NCC-71325, but all she knew about it was that it had been stationed along the Cardassian border in early 2371. A Betazoid friend of hers had been on the _Quebec_ and transferred to _USS Voyager_ before being killed when the ship was flung across the galaxy. It was docked for shore leave and minor repairs after an incident with an Orion pirate ship within Federation territory. Everyone had become suspect since the war and many minor players in the quadrant had taken it upon themselves to test the waters in Federation space to see how well armed they were. She'd had her share of it during the Tzenkethi skirmishes and hoped that her new command wouldn't be stuck in the same hole.

**Utopia Planitia, stardate 57092.7**

The small type-6 shuttle meandered its way through the docking berths of Utopia Planitia's mammoth shipyards toward the repair bays where the _USS Triton_ was berthed. Ten weeks had passed since the _Monarch_ had been destroyed. The surviving crew had spread far and wide across the Federation, most being reassigned to other vessels and the rest only now being recalled to active duty. Captain Astar and the newly-minted Commander Aaron Wright sat in the cockpit, Wright piloting, as the shuttle rose over the bow of the starship. Astar took in the gaps of the hull plating that was still visible but marvelled at the amount of work that had been done on the ship since Command had offered her the command. A few of the finishing touches remained and the carpeting on the bridge had only just been put in. It was still a glorious sight, seeing the new starship festooned with work lights, but she looked forward to the day—soon—when she would take her out into space and explore the galaxy.

As Wright brought the shuttle up over the dorsal section, Astar noticed the eight type-11 shuttles being piloted into the two shuttlebays. She sighed in contentment as the shuttle flew over the nacelles which were reminiscent of the old _Constitution_-class from a century ago. Wright banked the craft and took her down to the ventral section where all that was left to do was fit the captain's skiff into place.

'Wow,' Wright murmured. 'This ship looks amazing. Have you decided what you're calling the shuttles?'

'Yes, I have. The shuttles are being named after the Earth astronauts that perished in two disasters from the early space age.'

'That's surprising; I thought you might have named them after something on Trill,' Wright replied.

Astar smiled a little. 'The skiff is being named Makala, after the caves where the symbionts live.'

Wright nodded. 'Do you have a particular fascination for Earth history?'

'I do, but especially your early space age. Trill's space race occurred much later in our technological era than yours did and we had fewer accidents in space.'

'We did have a large number, but the real accidents came during the development of warp drive, the stakes were a lot higher.'

'Like the O'Neill colony on Vanguard?' Astar asked.

'Exactly,' Wright replied. 'It's amazing that they survived and after more than two centuries, returned.'

Astar nodded. 'Humans are exceptionally resourceful and seem to be able to survive anything.'

Wright agreed but changed the subject. 'The ship seems to be in good shape. I suppose the trip to Starbase 185 will be our shakedown cruise?'

'It will, and I hope there'll be nothing to worry about.'

'As do I, Captain, but it is our job to worry about everything.'

She chuckled. 'Indeed. Come on; let's get back to the orbital complex. I'd like some lunch and I have a few meetings to attend this afternoon.'

'How about we meet this evening, for dinner, and go over the roster?' Wright asked.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. 'A working dinner?'

'Would it be anything else?'

'I suppose not,' Astar replied. 'Spacedock galley?'

'How about Sisko's?' Wright countered.

'The Creole restaurant in New Orleans? I've heard of it but I've never been there.'

'Perfect time then.'

Astar smiled as Wright brought them back to the orbital complex. She might be able to work with him after all, for those small niggling doubts had crept in once she'd decided. There would be those on her crew who would feel put out that she didn't take the new bridge officers from within, but many of them were just too young and inexperienced for the jobs, and she hoped that they would continue to do their jobs without reservations. She expected difficulties but felt that because of their losses the crew would be able to handle the changes foisted upon them.

**New Orleans, stardate 57092.8**

Joseph Sisko was his usual ebullient self as he welcomed the evening patrons into his restaurant. The alligator still hung down from the ceiling and along the walls were numerous pictures of his famous family. One of the brightest lights of the war, retired Starfleet Captain Benjamin Sisko, stood with his father in one photograph and in another, writer Jake Sisko stood with his grandfather. There were pictures of Kasidy Yates and her daughter Rebecca Sisko, Joseph's daughter Judith Sisko, and just one single image of the whole family together hanging above the diners. The elder Sisko held a chair out for Leza Astar as she sat down and handed menus to her and Aaron Wright, both in their civilian clothes.

'Welcome back, Aaron. How are things these days?'

'Better than last time, Joseph,' Wright answered. 'I finally got that promotion.'

Sisko grinned like a Denobulan. 'Congratulations, Commander.' He turned to the kitchen. 'Nathan, two bowls of jambalaya. Enjoy yourselves, Commander, Captain,' Joseph said and moved on.

'Does he greet everyone like that?' Astar asked. 'How did he know I was a Captain?'

'I told him that I would bring my commanding officer when I got the promotion,' Wright answered. 'But I've been saying that for years. And yes, he does greet everyone that way.'

'Amazing.'

'If we're here long enough, he'll tell us stories about the alligator and his family.'

Astar smiled. 'It's been a long time since I've been made to feel this welcome,' she said as two bowls of steaming jambalaya were placed in front of them.

'Eat first, then work, otherwise Joseph will start scowling,' Wright told her.

Astar took a small spoonful of the food and tasted it gingerly. It was delicious. The flavours were unlike anything she'd tasted in five lifetimes. 'I don't suppose he'll give me the recipe?'

'Not a chance, Sisko's secret blend of spices,' Joseph chuckled. 'You like it?'

'I do,' Astar nodded. 'It is unlike anything I've ever had.'

His eyes twinkled with mischief. 'That's exactly what Curzon Dax said the first time he was here.'

Astar's mind spun wildly. One of the most noted names in Trill history had eaten here. 'He was here?'

'Along with Ben, many times. Every time they came to Earth in fact,' Joseph said. His eyes grew sad. 'Jadzia came here a few times too.'

'And now Ezri comes in here when she can,' Nathan told him, coming out of the kitchen. 'How many restaurants off-Trill can say that they have had one person come in here across three lifetimes?'

Joseph clapped Nathan on the back as his smile returned. 'Quite right. I hope you'll return, Captain,' he nodded and moved on again.

'I can't believe Dax was here.'

'Curzon was before my time, but I met Jadzia. You'd have liked her, Captain.'

'I'm sure I would. Curzon always did have a flair for the dramatic, and this place is certainly dramatic.'

Wright nodded his assent and the two of them ate in companionable silence, listening to the other conversations and thinking about their own histories. Leza had lived on Trill her entire life, working as hard as she possibly could at the Symbiosis Commission and then being joined with the Astar symbiont. Once she was joined, she enrolled at Starfleet Academy and made her way to the captaincy as fast as she possibly could, but the one thing she regretted was being made captain after the death of her commanding officer, friend and mentor. The symbiont, Astar, had lived four lifetimes before her, making it one of the youngest symbionts, and the Commission had let her keep it after the unpleasantness a few years before. She intended to make a difference and rather than fighting wars, that difference would be made by exploring the galaxy and finding new friends.

As Wright ate, he considered his earlier words to his new commanding officer. As an operations manager, he had been known as a tough man and always followed the regulations, believing that lack of regulations meant the chain of command would fall apart. Since conversing with his new captain, he realised that some of those regulations could be ignored entirely, at captain's discretion. He would have to get used to her command style and at the same time begin to formulate one of his own in readiness for the day when he took a command of his own. Before he realised it, he had finished his jambalaya and the non-alcoholic wine Joseph had provided them as an accompaniment. He saw Astar dab at her mouth with a silken napkin and then pull a padd from somewhere.

'You ready, Commander?' she asked.

He nodded. 'Yes sir,' he replied and took out his padd from a holdall at his feet.

'I wanted to keep my current chief engineer. He's a little bit of a maverick but he does get the job done.'

Wright looked at the jacket and record of the engineer and frowned. 'How many times did Captain Walker put him on report?'

'Too many,' Astar replied. 'He was a stickler for protocol, often detrimentally.'

Wright swallowed hard, he could often be the same way as his former captain had told him on more than one occasion. 'I'll try not to put him on report too often then. What about Lieutenant McNamara as tactical officer and security chief? Is he qualified enough?'

Astar shook her head. 'He's a little too quick to fire, needs to be reined in.'

'Might I suggest Lieutenant Commander Sheena Gonzales?'

'She's not at the top of the list,' Astar reminded him.

'I know, but I have served with her before and there are some things not in her official record,' Wright replied. 'Her tactical manoeuvres aren't by the book but they are often more successful. When we served together on the _Rutledge_ during the border wars, the tactical officer was killed and the captain put her on the spot. The Cardassians had no idea what hit them. We fought off two _Keldon_-class warships with a battered ship.'

'Well, hopefully we won't be going into combat all that often.'

'Sir, if we do go into combat, I'd feel safe if she were at tactical—even if the ship were falling to pieces around me.'

Astar thought about for a few moments and a waiter refilled their glasses. 'Alright, but I'd like another person to take over the role of security chief. It seems to have worked well in recent times across the fleet.'

'Until we find someone better, we can make McNamara acting security chief,' Wright suggested.

'That sounds fine for now,' she nodded, consulting her padd. 'That just leaves sciences, medical and helm.'

'You're keeping your operations manager?'

'Lieutenant Talen's record should speak for itself, Commander.'

'I thought you'd be promoting him though.'

'If I did, he'd have to transfer off; there are no openings for him.'

Wright nodded. 'Is Lieutenant Mahtani a capable science officer?' he asked, glancing at the current crew manifest.

'He is; why do you ask?'

'Promote him to chief science officer and full lieutenant.'

'Why?'

'It makes sense to use your own people if they're good. They will be more familiar with these systems than anyone else you bring in. Every science officer I know—almost every officer in fact—has been salivating over getting assigned to a _Luna_-class starship.'

'Like you?'

'Exactly. I've had to familiarise myself with the _Luna_-class and it's been hard, but enjoyable. If Mahtani is as good as his record says he is, then he's the perfect candidate.'

Astar considered her exec's words and he did have a point. 'Sounds good to me. Who do you suggest for medical?'

'This is your ship, sir.'

'I'd like a recent graduate.'

'The top two generally get to pick their own assignments, Captain.'

'I know, and this year's valedictorian has already made an overture to me, I was thinking of accepting.'

Wright looked at the padd. 'Solian Brex, Bolian. Top marks in almost all areas, particularly anthropology.'

'Perfect for exploration.'

'I agree.'

'That just leaves helm. I lost almost my entire flight control team,' Astar told her exec.

'Who's available?'

'Not many, but I know the Larson family. Admiral Larson is in temporary command of the _Ayers Rock_, and his son is the helm officer. Graduated from the Academy last year and has excelled since.'

'Send the messages. I wouldn't hesitate to have a Larson at the helm. I know of his father's reputation.'

'So we're done?'

'I hope so,' Joseph said. 'There are almost no customers left. You've been here for a good few hours.'

'Thank you for your hospitality, Mister Sisko,' Astar said. 'I've not been this relaxed in many months.'

'Call me Joseph, and just promise me you'll return.'

She smiled. 'On that, you have my word.'

**USS Pioneer, Bonneville Flats, beta quadrant, stardate 57093.1**

The Flats were devoid of star systems and there inhabited planets, making it the perfect place to test out new forms of technology. The last time it was used, Captain Robert Ashe remembered, was in 2311 just before the Tomed Incident. Since then Starfleet had given it a wide berth, as had the Klingons and Romulans, at least until the Dominion War. The Flats were a good place to gain speed because of the lack of stars and he had been part of a fleet that used to Flats to sneak up on a Dominion fleet and obliterated it. Then, it had been the transwarp experiment, and now it was the turn of the quantum slipstream drive. _Voyager_ brought back the technology from the Delta Quadrant and Starfleet Research and Development had spent the last two years working on it. The _Pioneer_ was the test bed for the new technology and the Bonneville Flats were the perfect place from which to test this new technology.

He sat in his chair on the bridge and watched the crew go about their business as they readied the ship for its test. Usually, he was called on for extended planetary survey missions and enjoyed the work, but this time he had a ship full of scientists and the bridge was full. Instead of the usual five people—himself, his exec and the tactical, helm and operations officers—there were eleven, the rest all specialists in the fields of quantum mechanics and slipstream theory. The lead scientist on the mission, Gene Resnick, approached him from the engineering station.

'Captain, we're ready to begin the test.'

Ashe smiled. 'Excellent, how is Commander Lake in engineering?'

'Moaning about the damage we're doing to his engines,' Resnick replied.

'Ashe to engineering, you ready down there?'

'Always, Captain,' Lake answered through clenched teeth.

'Then let's get this show on the road. Power up the slipstream drive and make sure the sensor drones are ready.'

'Slipstream drive online,' Lake replied.

'Sensor drones are sending telemetry,' Resnick added.

'Engage.'

The _Pioneer_'s warp nacelles stayed online, providing power for the rest of the ship, but the small hub in the centre of engineering was the main focus. All the lights lit up as the starship accelerated to speeds far in excess of what it was originally designed for. The telemetry from the sensor drones was received by the engineering, science and helm stations, allowing the flight control officer to properly steer the vessel.

'Everything looks green,' Resnick called out after five minutes. We're not getting a signal loss like _Voyager_ did, nor are we experiencing a loss of the slipstream.'

'I'm still picking up phase variance,' one of the other scientists called out. 'Not as high as _Voyager_'s but it would be preferable to get it lower. I recommend increasing the bandwidth to the sensor drones.'

'Only if it's necessary, we're still within the normal limits.'

'Okay people, let's slow down and take stock. This isn't supposed to be an extended run, engage the cut-off,' Ashe sat.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his helm officer frowned. 'Captain, helm is no longer responding. The drones are steering the ship.'

'Lieutenant Resnick?' Ashe asked.

'I'm no longer receiving telemetry from the drones, they seem to be receiving it from us without direction,' the scientist replied.

'Where are they taking us?'

'We'll be crossing into the Alpha Quadrant within the next hour if we can't shut down,' the chief science officer said.

'Less,' Resnick told them. 'According to these readings, we're travelling at a speed consistent with traversing the galaxy in five months.'

'What?' Ashe asked incredulously. Suddenly there was a jolt and the inertial dampers whined in protest. 'Now what?'

'Computing,' Resnick said. 'The slipstream has destabilised, but instead of throwing us back into normal space we've entered an unstable wormhole. There's no telling where we might end up.'

'How comforting,' Ashe replied. 'Did this possibility not come up during trials?'

'It did,' the other scientist said, 'but Lieutenant Resnick said it was negligible.'

'Did he now?'

'It was less than point-zero-zero-three percent.'

'Well it happened, and I would like to get my ship under control before we cross into enemy territory somewhere.'

'Aye sir.'

'Lake to bridge, I have an idea.'

'Go ahead, Commander.'

'I'd like to channel warp plasma into the slipstream drive, it should destroy the benamite ore that powers the drive.'

'No, you can't,' Resnick interrupted. 'We'll be stranded who knows where.'

'And it will be your job to get us out,' Ashe replied. 'Do it, Commander.'

'Aye sir.'

Nothing happened on screen except for the fast moving green slipstream wormhole but Ashe saw it start to collapse and toggled the intraship comm. 'All hands, brace for impact.'

Seconds later the ship was thrown free of the wormhole and Ashe barely managed to hold on to his chair. The red lighting immediately displaced the standard white light and he could smell the burning polymers from the consoles on the bridge. As the fire suppression system kicked in, Ashe shook his head to clear the cobwebs and saw his helm officer righting himself.

'Where are we, Ensign?'

'Checking the position of the stars, sir.'

'Federation space, I hope,' Resnick muttered, staying on the deck.

'No such luck, sir,' the Ensign replied. 'According to these readings, we're about a hundred light-years inside the territory controlled by the Breen Confederacy.'

'Great,' Ashe said. 'Perhaps we can invite them for a nice friendly game of blow each other to pieces.'

'They don't have any vessels capable of that any more, sir,' Resnick said as he stood up.

'Correction, Lieutenant. They're not _supposed_ to have destroyers and warships any more, but I can pretty much guarantee that there is at least one, and its commander won't be happy with us violating their sovereign space.'

'They're lucky they even have space left,' Resnick retorted. 'We should have let the Klingons have their way and annex this space for themselves.'

Ashe's eyes narrowed to slits as he peered at the scientist. 'Get off my bridge before I have you removed.'

'But I need to—'

'That's an order, Lieutenant.'

'Aye sir,' Resnick replied and headed for the turbolift which did actually open as he neared it.

'Okay people,' Ashe called out. 'Let's find a nice nebula to hide it before the Breen show up. I want us underway in twenty-four hours. And see if we can send a distress signal, I don't really want to get you all killed before you can testify on my behalf at a court-martial.'

**USS Ayers Rock, stardate 57093.6**

The asteroid field in the Sol system had been a favourite testing ground for tactical target practice since mankind had first set out into the stars and Admiral Harry Larson preferred it to some of the others he'd used over the years. The _Ayers Rock_ was the newest _Steamrunner_-class starship and as the head of Starfleet's Advanced Starship Design Bureau, Larson tried to be there to test every vessel that left Planitia's shipyards. The ship was being helmed by his only son and the tactical systems seemed to be working at Starfleet's minimum standards, but that wasn't high enough for him. He wanted them to be working at ninety-seven percent efficiency, a percentage that few ships ever achieved. As Daniel Larson tightened the ship's turn, Harry Larson found the perfect target for his next test.

'Lieutenant, coordinates 212-mark-57, fire.'

A photon torpedo streaked away from the starship's underbelly and struck the asteroid dead centre, shattering it into a million pieces.

'Brace for impact,' the tactical officer yelled suddenly as one of those pieces ricocheted off another asteroid and came hurtling toward them.

Harry Larson got himself back into his seat and activated the restraints just as the fragment hit them, sending the ship spinning out of control, more than a match for his son's outstanding piloting abilities. He came to, the red lighting throwing shadows across the small bridge of the ship, and released the restraints. His crew were scattered across the deck, most lying unconscious. Daniel Larson was still at the helm and disengaged himself as his father knelt beside the closest officer. There was no pulse and Daniel looked into his father's eyes as the former pushed his fingers toward the neck of the operations manager. He was dead.

'Report, Ensign,' Larson ordered.

The helmsman quickly finished checking the others on the bridge with the medical tricorder from the medkit. 'Four dead and two critically injured, sir. Comm systems are out, our engines and deflectors are down.'

'Can we get a signal out?'

'I've already tried, sir. The subspace relay was destroyed when we were hit.'

'Get down to sickbay and bring someone up here. I'll try and get the engines back up. Without the deflectors we're sitting ducks out here.'

He thought about disobeying his father before he realised that the man was an even better pilot that he was. 'Aye sir.'

As the helmsman forced open the turbolift doors, main power came back online and the doors opened themselves.

'Bridge to transporter room.'

'Go ahead, bridge.'

'Transport three directly to sickbay, lock on to my combadge.'

'Acknowledged, standing by.'

'Energise.'

Daniel Larson dematerialised and he saw his father trying to coax the impulse engines to life, apparently without success. Once he deposited the injured duo in sickbay, he ran for engineering to see what he could do to help but was stopped by the anti-radiation barrier. An engineer sat in front of it, coughing.

'It's no use. Whoever's in there is dead.'

'We need deflectors and impulse engines back online.'

'No good,' the engineer said, coughing again. 'The fusion generators were badly damaged, the best we've got is one-eighth impulse. We've got hull breaches on all decks.'

'I didn't notice that. Can I get to deflector control at least?'

'If you can get to an EVA suit and walk across the outside of the ship.'

'It'll be dangerous, but I can do it,' Larson said and tapped his combadge. 'Admiral, I think I have a way to get us out of here,' he added and explained his plan.

'Not a chance, Ensign. You'll never make it with all the rocks out there.'

'I have to try, sir, otherwise none of us will make it.'

'Ensign, how many EVA hours do you have?'

'Thirty-nine, sir,' Larson answered, knowing what his father was trying to do.

'I have more than four hundred hours. If anyone is going to do it, it's me. Get yourself back up here and be ready to get us the hell out of here when I tell you to.'

Larson looked up at the engineer who just shrugged, and coughed again. He needed to get them back to Planitia if any of them were going to survive. 'Aye sir, I'm on my way. Godspeed.'

He didn't receive a reply and made his way to the bridge, helping the engineer to sickbay on the way. By the time he reached the bridge and took his place at the helm, he could hear his father's running commentary as the latter traversed the ship as carefully as possible.

'_There's a lot of debris out here, Danny_,' the admiral told his son. '_That photon torpedo should have almost vaporised the asteroid. Check it out will you_.'

'Aye sir.'

'_I'm almost there, and there is a massive breach in the hull in that section. Can you deactivate the forcefield surrounding it?_'

'I'll try, but I might not be able to reactivate it.'

'_It's a risk I've got to take_.'

'Yes sir, deactivating the forcefield now.'

'_I'm in_,' he called out. '_Reactivate it. I'll need to take my gloves off to make the repairs_.'

Daniel Larson breathed a sigh of relief and waited for his father to complete the repairs to the deflector shield. The structural integrity field was losing power and the forcefields were beginning to fail.

'Dad, hurry. The forcefields won't hold much longer.'

'_Almost done_,' the admiral said. '_That's it, get us out of…_'

'Dad?'

When he heard nothing more, he checked on the status of the deflector shield. He had indeed got it working but…

'I'm sorry, Danny,' a voice said.

'Doc? Is everyone else okay?'

'Get us home.'

'In a minute,' he said. 'Bridge to transporter room.'

'Go ahead, bridge.'

'Scan for human lifesigns out there, the admiral might still be alive.'

'Aye sir, scanning.'

In what felt like an eternity, Larson prepped the impulse engines and rerouted as much available power as possible to the deflectors.

'Transporter room to bridge, I have him…but it's too late.'

'This is Doctor West, I'm on my way. Danny, please, get us out of here.'

He pushed the impulse engines to their new limits. He wanted to see his father.

Standing in his dress uniform, Ensign Daniel Larson looked around at the remaining crew of the _Ayers Rock_. Three quarters of the crew had died and all because of a faulty photon torpedo. It was a freak accident and a number of good people had lost their lives, including the hero of Chin'toka. He stepped forward, standing just above the casing that held his father's body.

'My father gave sixty years of his life to Starfleet,' Larson began. 'He fought in several conflicts and survived them all. His was the only ship to survive the onslaught at Chin'toka and he rescued as many people as he could. All I knew as a child were starships and starbases and I now feel honoured to be among you all, following in my father's footsteps. He sacrificed himself to save the rest of us and deserves the highest honour that we can bestow on another. As dictated by Starfleet tradition, and by his own wishes, we now send his body into space—where he found his calling, and where I have found mine.'

The crew stood in sombre silence as his father's casing was sent on its way. Many offered their condolences as they left and he stood by a window once they had all departed. Standing at attention, he saluted his father in the old Earth naval tradition and held it for several minutes.

'Ensign,' a voice said and Larson turned to face it.

'Sir?' he asked of Doctor West.

'I wish I could say something that would help, but I know that nothing can. As acting captain, I've entered in my log on this date that your father be given a commendation and this,' he said, holding out a box.

Larson opened it. It was a medal of valour. 'Thank you, sir.'

'There's something else.'

'Sir?'

'You are ordered to report to Utopia Planitia as soon as possible.'

'I'm being reassigned?'

'To the _USS Triton_,' West answered.

'A _Luna_-class?'

'Yes, Ensign.'

'Thank you, sir,' Larson smiled and turned back to the window. 'I'll do you proud, dad.'

'Dismissed, Ensign.'

**Ynelav, near the Black Cluster, stardate 57094.5**

Sitting in his throne-like command chair on board the _Hevn_, Thot Mol watched the stars become stationary once again as his ship dropped out of warp. Before him, the green world of Ynelav rotated in splendour. Recent scans of the planet done just three years ago showed an early space-age society and Thot Mol believed it to be the perfect planet on which to test his new weapon. He stood and strolled around the bridge, watching his loyal officers prepare the scanners and shipboard systems. At the tactical station, Prethot Omdar was making the final preparations and adjustments to the weapon.

'Are you ready?'

'Yes Thot. The weapon is ready for immediate deployment.'

'Excellent, target the largest population centre and fire. Sciences, record all telemetry.'

'All departments report ready, Thot.'

'Deploy the weapon.'

A single torpedo, slightly larger than a standard Federation quantum torpedo, tore up the distance between the ships and the planet and dove through the atmosphere, heading for a target on the ground, in the northern hemisphere. From the tactical station, Omdar watched as the torpedo hit something in the lower atmosphere and detonated, sending a powerful energy wave racing across the planet. The green world was instantly blanketed in white.

'What happened?' Mol asked.

'The torpedo was intercepted by a primitive fighter of some kind,' Omdar answered. 'The torpedo detonated prematurely, but it appears to have had the desired effect. The planet's ecosystem has been reordered at the quantum level.'

'Prethot, I am picking up lifesigns on the surface,' a younger officer called from the science station.

'How many?' Mol asked, glaring.

'Three hundred million.'

'What?' Omdar asked in surprise. 'Patch the telemetry to me.'

'Yes sir.'

Omdar spent the next few minutes analysing the data and Mol took to pacing the bridge, glaring at his second officer every few seconds.

'I have it!' Omdar yelled.

'Well?'

'The ecosystem has been reordered to your specifications, but the people are unharmed. This is an amazing breakthrough. It would allow us to…' he trailed off as Mol's gloved hand sent him flying over the tactical station.

'I do not want the people to survive,' Mol spat. 'I want them all dead.'

'Thot, we have been spotted by the people on the surface, and the Federation monitor this area very closely,' Omdar said, standing up and shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. 'I suggest we leave before they send someone to investigate.'

'No! I want to gather as much data as possible. Next time, provide the torpedo with a guidance system to avoid an atmospheric impact.'

'Yes Thot.'

Omdar left the bridge as the scientists began to collate and analyse the telemetry they were receiving. He despised Mol but until he had the capability to leave, he would do his duty, no matter how difficult or abhorrent it would be. As he strolled down to the torpedo bay, he hoped that the Ynelavii people would be able to survive in their new arctic environment. The weapons were stored in a secure bay that only he and Mol had access to, so in effect, he was to blame for the bad detonation of the warhead. What Mol didn't and would never know is that Omdar really was to blame for he had made that test torpedo a dumb one, hoping that it would fail and then he'd try to convince Mol to find another outlet for his rage.

'Mol to Omdar, have you determined the reason for the malfunction?'

Omdar sighed as he entered the secure bay and decided to be honest, at least partially. 'There was a problem with the guidance system,' he said. 'I am attempting to rectify the problem now.'

'Excellent. We won't be using another weapon here, but we'll remain on station until the reordering is complete and all the data has been collated.'

'Yes Thot.'

'I expect another three weapons ready for deployment by the time we leave.'

'I'll get right on it, Thot.'

'Excellent,' Mol replied and closed the channel.

Omdar muttered a string of curses as he opened up another casing and pulled the guidance system from it. He would need to be more careful if he wanted the next one to fail as well. It needed to be subtle enough that Mol couldn't blame him, because if Mol got it into his head that his second officer was to blame, he would be executed and there would be no escape. Opening his engineer's case, the tactical officer withdrew a slim device and began scanning the guidance system for any minor problems that could be exploited.

There were none immediately apparent, so he took the pieces apart in an attempt to find a microfracture or some other inherent flaw that he could exploit. It would take at least a day, perhaps two, for the reordering to be completed and for the data to be collated and analysed, so he had that amount of time to finish building three warheads and find a way or ways for them to fail. He didn't like having to go against his commanding officer but Mol hadn't just gone rogue, he had gone insane, intending to annihilate all rebel Breen throughout the Confederacy and steal the leadership for himself.

Sitting in the shuttle, the pilot watched the torpedo's detonation and gasped. Mol wouldn't get away with that, for if remembered correctly, this area was actually watched over by the Federation—by Starfleet in particular—and they would surely send a ship to investigate.

**USS T'Kumbra, stardate 57094.8**

On a vessel crewed entirely by Vulcans, a half-Romulan was not welcome except as an object for scientific scrutiny, and Lieutenant Commander Xeris did not like feeling as though he was a laboratory specimen. The captain had apparently asked for Xeris's temporary reassignment after the _Monarch_ had been destroyed because his current mission involved Romulan hardware. What quickly became apparent was that Xeris had little knowledge of his Romulan heritage or their technology, but being an engineer—and a damn good one at that—he was able to construct a hybrid interface. The Romulan data storage facility they discovered had in fact been used as a dumping ground by the Continuing Committee on their failed projects, some of which would have been very useful a few years before. But since the assassination of the entire Romulan Senate, including the Continuing Committee, the data was all but useless. The _T'Kumbra_ had downloaded the information, destroyed the facility and returned to Earth to relieve the ship of its contents. Now that the mission was complete, Xeris would shortly be able to leave the Corps of Engineers' vessel—which was not very friendly toward him in the least—and head for Earth while he waited to hear whether he still had a position or not.

There were a few possibilities, including resigning his commission and returning to Romulus in an effort to aid the rebuilding, but he disliked Praetor Tal'Aura because of her involvement in Shinzon's plans. Both the _Enterprise_'s and _Titan_'s missions were still classified, but he knew enough about them to know that he didn't want to be anywhere near Romulan territory at the moment. He'd packed his few belongings, those that hadn't been sucked into the event horizon of the black hole, and waited in his quarters for the captain. Moments later, exactly on time, the door chimed and he let the captain in.

'You have permission to disembark, Commander.'

'Thank you, Captain. Have you heard from Commander Astar yet?'

The hundred-and-fifty-year-old Vulcan raised an eyebrow. 'Commander Astar has been promoted to Captain and given command of _Triton_. She has requested that you return to Utopia Planitia at the earliest possible time to undertake your duties as chief engineer.'

'So that's a yes then,' Xeris replied, ignoring the Vulcan's raised eyebrow and smiling at the fact that he would be the chief engineer on one of the new explorers.

'Yes.'

'It's been a pleasure working with your crew, Captain,' Xeris told him, though he was sure that the older man could see right through his transparent lie.

'It has been an interesting experience working with you,' the captain replied.

'But I'm sure you wouldn't want to repeat it. I'll take my leave now, Captain. I'm anxious to get to the _Triton_.'

'Have you considered continuing your studies in pursuit of Kolinahr?'

'No, I do not believe I will, but I do have a greater understanding of my Vulcan heritage than I did when I came aboard.' _And I still think they're worse than we are, stuck with all that tradition_.

'Live long and prosper,' the captain bid him farewell with the traditional Vulcan salutation.

'Peace and long life,' Xeris completed the phrase and sidestepped the Vulcan before heading to the transporter room.

He hadn't made any friends on this mission and wanted to get away as fast as possible, but the Vulcan propensity for logical discourse prevented that from occurring as he was accosted every dozen metres or so by another crewmember. Each wished him well in the traditional Vulcan manner and he was thoroughly sick of it by the time he reached the transporter room.

'Bridge to Commander Xeris,' a voice emanated from his combadge.

He tapped it. 'Xeris here, go ahead.'

'Captain Scott would like to see you at Starfleet Headquarters.'

'Acknowledged,' Xeris replied and signed off. He turned to the transporter chief. 'Beam me to Starfleet HQ, Corps of Engineers.'

'Yes sir,' the chief replied as Xeris stepped up to the pad.

'Energise.'

Xeris rematerialised in the offices of the Corps of Engineers division, specifically the waiting room outside Captain Scott's office. He walked up to the desk and introduced himself, and was told to wait. Captain Scott would see him shortly. Shortly turned out to be more than an hour but when the wide-girthed human did arrive, he seemed harried.

'Come in, lad, come in. Sorry to keep ya waiting.'

'Sir, with all due respect, what am I doing here?'

Scott frowned at him. 'Laddy, you're an engineer and I'd like ya to come and join us in the Corps.'

'Thank you, sir, but no. I've just been assigned to the _Triton_, I'd like to ship out for at least one mission before joined the Corps.'

'I wouldn't have put ya back on the _T'Kumbra_; I know it couldn't have been easy.'

'No, sir, it wasn't. But Captain Astar has asked me to join her.'

Scott nodded. 'That's fine, laddy. I just wanted to ask.'

'I appreciate that, sir.'

Scott laughed. 'I'm sure. Be off with ya, I've got a lot of work to do.'

Xeris nodded and left, heading for the spaceport where he could get a lift to Utopia Planitia, to see what _Triton_ looked like and to get a peek at the engines, which were supposed to be the least damaging to space. As he left in a shuttle, he noticed the _T'Kumbra_ slipping away, no doubt onto another mission. He was however thankful that he was not on board, and looked forward to returning to space and not spending too much time on a planetary surface, like his last mission.

**Regency Headquarters, Ynelav, stardate 57094.9**

When she woke up this morning, Gexin rose to find a beautiful sunny day and was thankful that her vineyards would welcome the sunshine. Now, mere hours later, the sun was gone and clouds covered the entire world, according to her scientists and the news stations. Snow, which had never fallen in the city, was now blanketing the landscape and didn't seem to be stopping. The remote districts had not been heard from and police skimmers had been dispatched to locate the people. Rioting and looting was becoming more prominent in the city and other major population centres. The people had never faced such a freak weather phenomenon and they were scared. The satellites in orbit were useless as there was too much interference in the atmosphere for any signal to penetrate, and she was beginning to feel useless. Sitting in her office on the top floor of the Regency Tower, the headquarters of the Ynelavii government, Regent Gexin watched the cable news stations and hoped that things would calm down soon, or she would have to declare martial law. The doors to her office opened and Minister Tyrro of the Ministry of Legal Affairs entered, escorted by two guards.

Gexin sighed. 'Let me guess, you want me to declare martial law?'

'It is the only way to prevent widespread destruction,' Tyrro replied.

'Do you have any idea what caused this?' she asked.

'In fact, I do,' he answered, withdrawing a slim folder from the briefcase at his side. 'This is a photograph of a Nelanii base on the Navalo slopes,' he said, passing her a picture, 'and this is the same base a few hours later. You can clearly see that they are launching a missile.'

Gexin looked up, horrified. 'Are you sure? Have you verified these images?'

'They were taken by a Nelanii operative, Regent,' Tyrro told her, telling her the truth. He doubted that the Nelanii rebels had caused this devastation but he would use it to his advantage and get them eliminated, once and for all. The missile launch could have been a coincidence.

'Very well, find the rebels and arrest them. I want them interrogated—find out who was responsible and bring them before me.'

'Yes, Regent,' Tyrro replied.

He strode from the office annoyed that he had to waste time interrogating them when he could just as easily execute them. She was too soft on the rebels and they had taken advantage of that, hitting military and civilian targets in an attempt to force her to stand down, so that they might take control of the government. The rebels had been active for more than two decades and none of the five Regents had been able to quash them, not that they had been overly active in dissuading them from their illegal activities. Tyrro decided that the only way to deal with them was a mass execution but he had to be careful about it. His Militia Elite could be on site in less than two hours and the rebel base would be debris a few minutes later, but he needed at least three survivors to interrogate.

Gexin watched him leave and from the way he walked knew what he was going to do. She couldn't have stopped him if she tried—the military was just too powerful these days—and she couldn't really fault him for his attitudes. She hadn't done as much as she could to quell the rebellion but there was a reason for it. A source inside the rebellion was feeding her information and she was using that to strangle their supply lines. It was a long term plan set in motion almost a decade ago and she was expressly forbidden from disclosing it to her senior ministers or aides. She couldn't even discuss it with her predecessors for fear of someone else learning about it. Turning her thoughts away from Tyrro's machinations, Gexin saw that the snowfall had increased and felt her resolve slipping. Martial law was the only thing that would stop the people from destroying their own civilisation and she had to implement it soon or be forever known as the last leader of a dying race.

Swallowing her pride, she sent a message to Tyrro's deputy ordering all troops to be mobilised in the major cities. All looters and trespassers would be detained until further notice. Those that resisted should be restrained but if stronger force was needed, it was authorised. If she was to be last Regent of the Ynelavii, she was not going to go down without a fight. Her people would survive, even if it was only a few, and if the rebels were truly responsible for this atrocity, they would be punished in the most severe manner she knew of—public execution in a manner not seen for over two centuries. The receipt of her message came back and she stood to look out of the window. The Regency Tower stood taller than other building in the city and even on a bad day she could see the spires of the various skyscrapers. Today all she could see was snow; it covered every building from ground to roof.

'Regent, there's a message for you from the Ministry of Science,' an aide called over the intercom. 'It's Minister Dolan.'

'Put him through,' Gexin replied and sat back down again, turning to face the wall monitor mounted on the far wall.

The head of the science ministry was a fairly young man for his position, barely into his fourth decade, but he was an expert in astronomical phenomena and as this was the space age, he was deemed the right man for the job. She only hoped that he could weather this latest problem.

'How can I help you, Minister?'

'Regent, what do you know of the weather problems?'

'Only that Minister Tyrro believes it to be the work of the Nelanii.'

'Is there proof?'

'Only pictures out of context,' she answered honestly.

'I have another theory,' he said boldly.

'Yes?' Her screen suddenly blanked and Minister Tyrro entered the office again. 'What is the meaning of this?'

'You yourself declared martial law, Regent. I'm taking control of all government communications, lest the rebels use this time to launch an attack against us.'

'This is a coup, is it not?' Gexin asked, having expected this turn of events.

'If you want to look at it that way,' Tyrro replied with a grin she decided she didn't like. 'I'll be coordinating the Militia Elite from here and you will see the annihilation of the rebel movement very soon.'

Trudging through the dense foliage of the Navalo slopes, Colonel Allak and his team of highly-trained soldiers made their way toward what Minister Tyrro had called a rebel stronghold. He doubted there was anything more than a few tents here, but he was doing his duty and that was all there was to it. In a few minutes they would be approaching the encampment and the rebels would undoubtedly try to put up a fight but eventually they'd see the inevitability of their position and surrender. If they didn't, he would be forced to kill all but three of them and the survivors would only live as long as was necessary to extract the names and locations of other rebel cells. The Nelanii movement, based upon the religious teachings of a long-dead false prophet, would become just a footnote in history.

His team moved stealthily, barely touching the large shrubs and bushes as they spread out to surround the camp. The Militia Elite were the cream of the Regency's armed forces, trained in armed and hand-to-hand combat, experts in explosives and counter-terrorist operations. There was little they couldn't do and often did the dirty work for Regency Intelligence, when the Regent couldn't authorise any action. Allak didn't particularly care whether it had been the Regent or Minister Tyrro who issued the order to storm the Navalo base; he'd been waiting for the opportunity for some time. The only thing he didn't like about this operation was that it had to be done in the snow. According to the most recent reports, the entire world was being snowed under and all because of some kind of missile that the rebels launched moments before.

Allak suddenly held up his hand and the forward movement halted. He believed he had heard something and gestured for his second in command to join him up front. They were supposed to be mere metres from the site but the noises he had heard were natural. There was no activity discernible through auditory senses and Allak needed to know what was going on.

'Rokan, you and I will head for the camp,' he whispered. 'Everyone else stays here.'

'Yes sir,' his second replied in a similar volume.

The two well-conditioned men stepped forward as silently as possible and minutes later emerged into the camp, or what was left of it. A handful of tents remained in place, as did a couple of high-tech and very expensive power generators. He took it all in, in seconds, but what he did not see was a missile silo or any possible way to launch a missile from this location. They were rather high up compared to the city but there were no burn patches.

He turned to Rokan. 'Get Minister Tyrro for me, now.'

Rokan whispered into his radio and then after a few minutes handed it to his superior.

'_What do you have, Colonel?_' Tyrro asked.

'Nothing, Minister,' Allak answered. 'There is no evidence that a missile was launched from this location, but plenty to suggest that the rebels left in a hurry, several hours ago.'

'_Document everything you find and then return, Tyrro out_,' the Minister replied gruffly.

Clearly he had expected something to be found, and the fact that he didn't greatly distressed him. No matter, he had a job to do and would do it. 'Call everyone in. I want a complete inventory of this camp.'

'Yes sir,' Major Rokan replied.

Over the next two hours, the Militia Elite team catalogued every single item from the camp, from the tents to the spoons. Allak was sure that the evidence presented to Tyrro was false and deliberately misleading. The only item of note found was a standard government-issue ID badge, specifically for Regency Headquarters. His eyes widened and he slapped his head in stupidity.

'Get Tyrro, now; there will be an attack on Headquarters.'

'I cannot get through,' the radioman told him. 'We are being jammed from somewhere.'

'Go outside the camp and try to get a signal out. We must warn someone.'

'Yes sir,' he replied and scurried away, dragging the heavy radio equipment behind him.

Allak turned to Rokan. 'We have been sent on a wild _forrt_ chase.'

'So it would seem, sir. But the Nelanii must know that they cannot attack Headquarters without being killed themselves.'

'Perhaps that is what they are planning,' the colonel replied. 'But leaving all this equipment behind seems a little wasteful, especially for a rebellion.'

'Does that mean they intend to return?'

'Possibly, but I don't intend to allow that possibility. Set up explosives around the camp and we'll detonate them when we leave.'

'I'm afraid I cannot permit that,' a cultured voice said and they turned to the clearing.

The radioman walked forward with a pistol held to his head. Behind him was a man famous for his stirring poetry and plays.

'You?' Allak was surprised.

'The government is corrupt and I have the unique position of being both on the inside and outside at the same time. This little get together was my idea, for I need a few good soldiers on my side, and I know that you are not completely trusting of Minister Tyrro.'

'I will not betray my people,' Allak replied.

'I'm asking you to help save them,' Furan told him. 'I don't know about you, but I'm getting cold. Shall we go inside?'

'Inside where?' Rokan asked suspiciously.

Furan pulled a small device from his pocket and activated it. A patch of ground eight metres across opened between them and Allak glanced into the opening.

'Is this where you launched the missile from?'

'It wasn't a missile,' Furan replied. 'It was an automatic fighter plane, a prototype. Something hit it.'

'Did you cause this,' Allak gestured to the snow falling all around them.

'No, I assumed it was a freak weather occurrence to the area.'

'It is happening across Ynelav.'

Furan frowned. 'We'll be safer inside. Unless you want to die?'

Allak sighed and called his people together. 'Everyone down here, we'll return to Headquarters, if it is still there, later.'

'It won't be,' Furan said calmly. 'Another cell is planning to attack and may already have done so.'

**Institute of Science, Ynelav, stardate 57095.2**

Minister Dolan was furious at being cut off, especially during a call as important as this one. Every attempt to reconnect with the Regent had failed, the computer citing a jamming signal being responsible. For almost three hours he had tried and while he knew it was urgent, he couldn't brave the extensive snowdrifts that had fallen across the city so quickly. The Regent had said Minister Tyrro had evidence blaming the Nelanii but he knew that they did not have the ability to launch an attack of such devastation. He had another theory, a wilder one to be sure, but one that had far more proof surrounding it. On the many screens in his office, an object in orbit of his world was displayed. It was not one of the dozens of Ynelavii satellites—both natural and manmade—that orbited the planet, but it did have recognisable features, such as engines that even the most rudimentary flying vehicle had. This was a spaceship and as the Ynelavii now had a unified world government—except for the rebels—it did not come from a rival national group. This ship belonged to aliens.

'Sir, there has been an attack on Headquarters,' an aide yelled.

Dolan turned to a news channel and saw a replay of the attack. The building itself exploded and there appeared to be multiple points of origin. The rebels had dealt a devastating blow to the Regency on this day, as these aliens also had. The more immediate problem was to locate survivors.

'Send the recall signal,' Dolan ordered. The signal would be sent to all government ministers and if any replied that were senior to him, he would defer to them. If none did, he would be named the de facto Regent until the elections, whenever they would be held.

In the meantime, Dolan tried sending a signal to the vessel in orbit but the ionization in the atmosphere was too great. The continued snowfall had effectively cut all satellite communication off and they were going to have to rely—at least for the time being—on the older cable communication lines.

A number of replies came back from the signal, from the Ministers of External Affairs, Internal Affairs, and Information, all junior to him in the Regency hierarchy. He sent out a new signal, informing the remaining ministers that he was taking control of the Regency in accordance with the Laws of State.

'I want a meeting of all Ministers in my office as soon as they can arrive and the junior ministers from other ministries may attend. We must keep this government moving. Send a message to rebel leaders and have them elect a single person to speak for them. What Regent Gexin was unwilling to do, I will,' Dolan said.

'Yes, Regent,' his aide replied and Dolan liked the way the words sounded.

He turned back to the screens and saw the alien vessel still sitting there, doing nothing, though he assumed they were taking stock of the damage that their interference had wrought. It disturbed him that his people were so advanced and yet they couldn't prevent something like this from happening. He vowed to make sure that they wouldn't be caught unawares again, if they could survive this unnatural disaster. The news stations were beginning to fail as the power generation plants were being overtaxed and cutting out. Dolan found himself wishing for a miracle as the reality of his new position sunk in. As Regent to almost four hundred million people, he needed to be on top of everything all the time. It was a trying time even when there were no major issues to deal with, but one of his first acts as Regent was to try and reconstruct an entire civilisation before it fell apart completely.

'Regent Dolan, the Ministers are on their way but in this inclement weather it could take them some time, and the rebels have selected Furan to be their spokesman,' Jonek, his aide, said.

'Thank you, can you arrange for all available vehicles, both personal and commercial, to ferry as many citizens as possible into the city from the other districts. The only way we are going to survive if the temperature continues to drop is by being together and sharing warmth. This is an executive order.'

'Yes, Regent,' Jonek replied and hurried off.

Furan was a famous poet and this was the first Dolan had heard of him being one of the Nelanii rebels. Nelanii had been a prophet—or false prophet, depending on your point of view—more than two millennia ago and his teachings had been more secular than religious, causing successive Regents to outlaw those teachings. Over time, the teachings had given rise to a movement and then a rebellion. Their entire movement was focused on the single fact that Nelan was witness to the events of the Creators' wrath rather than Ynelav. Dolan believed that they may both have been present at the time when the last of the world's previous inhabitants were killed off in a great flood. Only nine families survived and they became the founders of the first settlement, Ynelav City.

Dolan decided to hold a meeting of all the ministers and Furan and hopefully convince them all to work together in this time of crisis. Any issues they had could be worked out later, though he would promise to listen to them in due course. He didn't really expect them to be easy to convince but he had to try, for the sake of his people. Watching his own personal computer, he noticed that eleven feet of snow had fallen in the last eight hours. The temperature had dropped by six degrees and the poles had completely frozen over, even the tropics were beginning to freeze. He was a scientist by occupation and needed to find a way to combat the effects of the snow, but to do that he had to be out there taking samples and talking to the people, which he couldn't do as Regent and needed to delegate.

'Get me the Militia Elite, if they're still alive,' he yelled into his intercom.

**Breen Warship Hevn, Ynelav orbit, stardate 57095.3**

Just as the Ynelavii people could not find out what was happening in orbit, Thot Mol was unable to determine what was going on down there. The instantaneous cloud cover created by the torpedo had ionised the atmosphere almost immediately and all sensor scans were being deflected back. Omdar had already told Mol this information but the Thot was not listening, instead glaring at the cloud cover almost willing it to dissipate. They had been in orbit for several hours now and probes sent to the far side of the planet reported the same findings as the ship had garnered. The cloud cover was total across the entire planet and snow was presumably falling everywhere. The oceans would be freezing over and when the snow finally stopped, in days—or weeks—and the sun began to shine through, it would not be able to melt the ice which would have formed. Ynelav would have entered an ice age and its people would probably be dead. The test, although an initial failure, had yielded interesting results which Omdar was continually analysing.

'We could seed planets with this weapon and allow the planet the time to work, just like what has happened here,' Omdar thought aloud.

'Unacceptable,' Mol retorted with rage colouring his tone. 'This weapon was designed—by me—to detonate at ground level and reorder the planet's crust into a habitation suitable for the Breen people, without these cumbersome refrigeration suits.'

'Do we do another test, then?' Omdar asked.

He knew that the weapon had not been designed by Mol, but had been stolen from a Federation research facility some years ago. From what he had seen of the weapon it was designed to reorder matter on a molecular level its true potential was in the field of terraforming, not death, but his commander was not looking for its true potential. He was looking for a way to wreak revenge on the system that had held him in place instead of promoting him to the position he believed he should occupy, that of the Supreme Commander of the Breen Confederacy forces.

'No,' Mol answered. 'We set course for Oshel IX and prepare to take control of the planet, by any means necessary.'

'Course plotted,' the helm officer replied.

'Seed the lower atmosphere with probes. I want to know everything that happens on this planet when the clouds finally clear.'

'Sir, if we set them in the lower atmosphere we won't know if anyone comes by to find out what happened.'

'Who is going to come out here?' Mol asked, looking at his executive officer as if he was the dumbest man in the galaxy.

'The Federation have a base of operations nearly two days away at maximum warp,' Omdar replied. 'They might patrol this area, especially in light of our recent activity.'

'The war is over and the reparations they inflicted on us have done enough damage. I do not think the Federation, or Starfleet, are cowardly enough to openly show that they do not trust us. Besides, many of their vessels are patrolling their own territory and exploring new territories, as well providing aid to Cardassia and Romulus. They don't have enough time to bother with a single planet that isn't even space-faring yet, or have you forgotten about their "Prime Directive?" Mol asked.

'I had not forgotten, Thot,' Omdar answered, 'but they have interfered with our activities before.'

'That is a myth. There is no evidence to support that, not for the Federation anyway. The Romulans on the other hand have interfered, on several occasions.'

'Yes, Thot.'

'Prepare for departure.'

'All stations report ready.'

'Take us back into Confederacy territory.'

The pilot heard all that was said on the bridge and disconnected the magnetic clamps from the _Hevn_'s hull as the ship prepared to jump to warp. She hovered, waiting for the ship to adjust its course. As the ship's warp engines powered up, she used her manoeuvring thrusters to push away, like a chunk of debris. She was sure that the ship's sensors wouldn't detect her, or if they did, that whoever was manning the console on the bridge would take no notice. The _Hevn_ disappeared into warp and she was left alone in high orbit of the planet. The probes would not yet have activated and she flew into the atmosphere, using the manoeuvring thrusters to change course, destroying each one in turn, before returning to orbit and awaiting the Federation vessel she knew would surely come. Regardless of what Starfleet was doing, the detonation of a metaweapon, especially one like this, in unclaimed space so close to the Breen/Federation border would be severe enough to warrant a presence. The Black Cluster had been the site of more than a few accidents over the years, and the _Enterprise_ had been present on at least two of those occasions. Perhaps she would be there again.

**Starfleet Security, stardate 57095.7**

With the rain once again giving San Francisco its cold caress, most people were staying indoors unless they needed to go out. Most people, however, were not Starfleet officers, who went everywhere in all weathers and at all times. Sheena Gonzales, an orphaned Betazoid raised by humans, was hoping for some downtime after her last assignment but as soon as she touched down on Earth, her hopes were dashed. The mission to Cardassia Prime had left her emotionally drained and the orphaned children resonated with her, but there was little she could do unless she opened up an orphanage—which might happen in a few years—but for now she still wanted to be in Starfleet, but she just wanted to get some rest before doing anything else. Heading toward the nearest transporter terminal, Gonzales was trying to calm her inner thoughts when she was interrupted by her combadge.

'Lieutenant Commander Gonzales, please report to Captain Earhart.'

She sighed and tapped her combadge, 'Acknowledged,' she said and wondered what the Admiral's adjutant could possibly want with her.

Striding toward the office at the other end of the Starfleet Security building, Gonzales thought about what she could possibly be given now. After more than eight years of missions, both covert and overt, for Starfleet Security, she had requested a transfer to starship duty but was told—continually—that no positions were available for someone of her level of experience. Earhart was waiting for her and quickly gestured her in to his office.

'What can I do to help, sir?' Gonzales asked, pretending that she was willing to assist.

'I'm sorry to have to do this, Commander, but your leave has been cut short.'

'Sir, with all due respect, I've only just got back from Cardassia and been debriefed,' she replied, her tone suggesting that she wasn't going to be amenable to any new mission, and flirting with insubordination.

'I'm aware of that, but time is of the essence,' he said, recognising her tone but ignoring it and baiting her.

Gonzales sighed again. 'Where am I going this time?'

'There is an opening on a _Luna_-class starship for a tactical officer.'

'Not security chief?'

'No, Captain Astar split the role. The current deputy chief of security will be acting security chief.'

'I accept the position, sir,' Gonzales replied, exhilarated. All her pent up aggression about her shore leave being rescinded vanished instantly.

'Excellent, the _Triton_ is docked at Utopia Planitia. She leaves in a little under a week,' Earhart said. 'I'll tell Captain Astar to expect you,' he added. 'Here is the current crew manifest.'

'Current?'

'Almost three months ago, the _USS Monarch_ was destroyed when the crew tried to rescue a Klingon vessel from a black hole. A fifth of the crew were killed. The survivors were rescued; Commander Astar was promoted and given command of the _Triton_. She's been trying to fill the ranks as most of the surviving crew were reassigned.'

'Sounds like a lot of baggage for a captain to carry around,' Gonzales replied.

'Is that a problem, Commander?'

'No, sir. I just like to know who I'll be working with, that's why I'm still alive.'

Earhart chuckled. 'This isn't a war zone.'

'It's a war zone of the psyche, sir. Especially for me—and especially for them at this time.'

He nodded. 'So you still want the job?'

'Yes sir, I do. What is the _Triton_'s mission?'

'Her mission is to explore this end of the Delta Quadrant, using all of the data that _Voyager_ collected during its seven years sojourn in the region.'

Gonzales nodded. 'I understand, sir.'

'Dismissed, Commander.'

Gonzales left the office and went home to her rarely-used apartment in Oakland. There was very little of her in the apartment but she packed up what there was and sent a message to the landlord telling him that she didn't need the apartment any more. _Triton_ would be her home until she died or was transferred—the best thing in the galaxy for her as a Starfleet officer, for being planet-bound had never suited her. Space had been her first home and she hoped it would be her only home, and her last.

Looking around her as she walked through Oakland, Gonzales realised that this had never been her home. Even her parents' numerous residences on a dozen different planets hadn't been home. She didn't know anyone here, had never known anyone here, and because of her work she didn't have time to find someone to share her life with—though she did want to find someone, because it was the one thing that was missing.

The journey to Planitia was brief and when Gonzales saw _Triton_ she knew that she had found a home. The starship was gorgeous. Though she had heard of the new _Luna_-class starships, she had never seen one up close because she'd been away for quite some time. Designed to replace either the _Ambassador_-class as a new breed of explorer, the _Luna_-class was supposed to go for a mission of an extended period of time, open-ended really, to explore the galaxy. The _Luna_ had suffered a horrific accident; _Titan_ was exploring the rimward half of the Orion arm while the _Ganymede_ was exploring the coreward half; the _Io_ had already made first contact with another species and the other eight vessels were in various stages of completion. Based on _Voyager_'s mission reports, the Delta Quadrant was home to several violent and territorial species, and _Triton_ was powerful enough to defend herself while still able to say she was on a mission of peaceful exploration. _Triton_ was going to explore new worlds, find new civilisations, and she wanted to be there when it happened. She was the best there was, and she would control the weapons. It was about time she was finally able to put roots down, and this was the perfect place.

**USS Triton, stardate 57096.1**

Lieutenant Jamal Mahtani had overseen the upgrades to _Triton_'s stellar cartography laboratory and the addition of the enhanced sensor nets, and ever since the upgrades, he'd been testing them every chance he got but the real work would be done once they left the shipyards. As the ship's stellar cartographer he spent most of his on-duty time in the holotank, apart from missions and briefings, but he wished for more. He hadn't joined Starfleet to be confined to a lab, but his talents lay in mapping stars and other celestial phenomenon so that had been the natural course he took. Sitting beside an open panel, with its contents across the deck, Mahtani was replacing damaged ones from a failed test when he heard the doors slide open. He turned to face a human man in a red uniform, one that he had never met before.

'Don't bother getting up, Lieutenant,' the man said and Mahtani saw the three pips across his collar.

'What can I do for you, Commander?' Mahtani asked, getting up anyway.

'I'm here to do something for you, Lieutenant,' Commander Wright told him.

'Sir?'

'Captain Astar and I have been looking over your record, and we both feel that your talents are truly wasted here.'

Mahtani wondered if he was about to be transferred but held his tongue.

'Lieutenant junior grade Jamal Mahtani, as of stardate 57096, I hereby promote you to the rank of full Lieutenant with all the rights and privileges therein. Furthermore, in recognition of your outstanding work in the field of stellar cartography and science in general, you are required to take up the position of Chief Science Officer immediately. Do you wish to ask anything?'

He could barely contain his enthusiasm. From deputy chief science officer to chief in less than a year, and a bridge position to boot. Gone were the days when the science officer was relegated to an office in the bowels of the ship, he would now have a console and access to every scrap of data that the ship's sensors recorded.

'What of my team, Commander? With me on the bridge, there will be several places to fill.'

'That's been taken care of. Command has assigned all the lower decks officers and crewmen, leaving Captain Astar and myself to fill in the gaps in the senior staff. There will be a briefing at 2100 hours this evening in the observation lounge for all senior staff on board. You need to attend as Chief Science Officer.'

'Yes sir, I'll be there.'

'Good, your new deputy is Michelle Malling; she just transferred aboard from Earth. Show her the way things work around here and then continue your duties.'

'Aye sir.'

Wright shook his hand and left cartography. Mahtani smiled and put the workings of the console back together, then headed for the science labs where Malling was working on a few projects. The ship was not technically on active duty yet so pet projects could be worked on as long as they did not interfere with official duties, for the personnel on board were on active duty. As he neared the science labs he heard a commotion and entered the room. Three science officers were involved in what looked like ritual combat, with no weapons he had ever seen, and they were all bruised and bloody.

'What the hell is going on here?' he yelled.

All three stopped and a young woman emerged from a side room. 'Lieutenant?'

'Lieutenant Malling, I presume?'

'Yes sir,' Malling replied. She was a dark-skinned human with faint mottling along her brow that no one was quite sure of.

'What is going on?' Mahtani asked, a little less forcefully this time.

'It is an experiment, sir.'

'I can see that, but what are you trying to do that you can't do with holograms?'

'Holograms don't think the way people do, no matter how well they are programmed. I've been testing these weapons for weeks, Lieutenant, and I needed some volunteers to help me with the final stages.'

'What is the experiment about?'

'Each culture seems to have a ritual blade for which arguments are settled, either now or in the past. I wanted to know which is stronger.'

'And?'

'The Klingon d'k tahg against the Andorian ushaan tor in close quarters, and the Vulcan lirpa against the bat'leth otherwise,' Malling replied. 'Of the three, the lirpa is clearly the strongest, but only because of its reach. In close quarters combat the ushaan tor is stronger because of the sharp blade.'

'I see. Well, write up your paper and send them to sickbay. We'll talk about this later, but suffice it to say, that next time you wish to conduct an experiment like this, talk with me first. I am the chief science officer.'

'Yes sir,' she replied. 'I was unaware of your promotion.'

Mahtani nodded. 'Now you are. All of you, dismissed.'

Malling and the three volunteers left the lab for sickbay, leaving the weapons where they were. Mahtani sighed, realising that his new deputy was going to be a little troublesome. He had no doubt that she was a good officer, but there was no way he could let her get away with another stunt like that. As it was, he was going to have to write up a report on this and present it to Commander Wright before the end of shift. His first shift as chief science officer was not going exactly the way he'd have wanted it to go, but things could only get better.

**Starfleet Headquarters, stardate 57096.4**

Sitting at her desk, Kathryn Janeway monitored every transmission that came in from every active vessel and starbase in the Federation, and the last one she heard chilled her to the bone. The Breen had entered the war late in the game and as such did not lose as many vessels as either the allies or the Dominion. Since they had been sent back to their territory, no one had heard a word from them—and that was five years ago. If they had been rebuilding their arsenal, against the articles of the Treaty of Bajor, then they had just become the most dangerous race in the quadrant. Cardassia was still in a sorry state and the Romulans were faring just as badly. The Klingons were exploring the Beta Quadrant and the others were content to watch for now. Unfortunately for her, there was no vessel in the area to help her and Deep Space Three didn't have any starships assigned, just a handle of runabouts and shuttles. She checked the massive database of active vessels and noticed one that was in the final stages of construction and hadn't officially been given an assignment, then sighed. Knowing that she had promised the captain an entirely different mission, she now had to change things and would do it in person.

'Janeway to Planitia dock master,' she activated the comm system on her desk.

'Go ahead, Admiral,' the dock master replied, knowing her by name.

'How long before _Triton_ is due to leave spacedock?'

'Ten days, Admiral, is she leaving sooner?'

'Might well be, I'll let you know in a few hours.'

'Acknowledged.'

'Janeway out.'

Transporting from Earth to Mars was not really possible, even today, so she would have to take a shuttle, which meant coordination and bureaucracy. With her credentials it was taken care of in short order and she reached Planitia in just a few minutes, piloting the shuttle into _Triton_'s cavernous main shuttlebay. Captain Astar had been apprised of her approach and had Commander Wright meet her in the corridor.

'How does it feel to be in red, Commander?' Janeway asked.

'It feels good, Admiral, but it's going to take a little time to get used to.'

'I'm sure you'll be fine, Commander. Tell me, how has the search for the senior staff been going?'

'We're almost done, just need our Chief Medical Officer and we're good to go.'

Janeway nodded. 'Good work. Guess you could leave a little ahead of schedule,' she added, thinking aloud.

Wright looked askance at her but said nothing as the turbolift carried them to the bridge. The doors opened and Janeway found only a skeleton crew manning it. Engineers were busy patching consoles together and the viewscreen showed a view of the spacedock. Janeway strode toward the captain's ready room and chimed the door.

'Come.'

Janeway entered and saw Astar sitting at her desk working her way through a number of reports.

'Captain, we need to talk.'

Astar looked up. '_Triton_ will be ready to go in ten days, give or take.'

'I'm afraid you'll need to push that forward a few days,' Janeway replied.

Astar leaned back in her chair and sighed. 'Which empire has collapsed now?'

Janeway smiled briefly. 'Not this time, Captain. It's worse. According to a report I received from Deep Space Three a little over an hour ago, a Breen warship was seen in a system close to the Black Cluster. The latest reports indicated that a metaweapon had been detonated near or on a pre-warp planet in that system. While we are not in the habit of interfering in pre-warp cultures, this particular one has been irrevocably contaminated, and perhaps killed, and you are the closest vessel with the right capabilities.'

'By which you mean?'

'_Triton_ is the only vessel I have available that is capable of accurately recording whatever is happening, or happened, down on that planet. I don't have anyone else to send, Captain. I'm afraid your Delta Quadrant mission will have to be delayed. You're to proceed to Deep Space Three where Admiral Holt will brief you before you head into the Black Cluster.'

Astar nodded. 'Not a problem, Admiral. We'll find out what really happened.'

'Thank you, Captain.'

'When do you want us to leave?'

'As soon as possible,' she replied. 'I have to apologise again. I know that you and your crew are excited about this mission.'

'I'll contact my chief medical officer and we'll head out as soon as he's aboard. Are you aware that this is exactly what happened to the _Titan_?'

Janeway nodded. 'Try not to fly through any strange wormholes, Captain. Those kinds of reports are not well received by Command.'

'I'll do my best, Admiral.'

Janeway nodded. 'I'll leave you to it then, Captain.'

'Commander Wright will escort you to the shuttlebay, Admiral,' Astar replied and then turned back to her reports.

Ignoring the mild rebuke, Janeway left Astar's ready room and Wright escorted her back to the shuttlebay. She took her shuttle back to Earth and hoped that _Triton_'s mission would not be as disastrous as _Titan_'s mission had been over the last couple of weeks. She had no doubt in Astar's abilities but command of a _Luna_-class starship was a far cry from exec on a _Sovereign_, but there was precedent. Will Riker had been the executive officer on the _Enterprise-E_ before being given command of the _Titan_. The former had only about a third of the crew of the latter and was specifically designed for exploration. Astar had picked her command crew because of their proven abilities as scientists and administrators, and Janeway hoped that it would be enough. They had all seen enough death in the war and were all battle-scarred, especially after their most recent loss. Setting her mind back its other pursuits, Janeway thought of the other _Luna_-class vessels and the people she had in mind to command them. It was time to get all of them out of the shipyards and into space.

**Starfleet Medical, stardate 57096.7**

Having given his speech to the Starfleet Medical class of 2379 three weeks before, Solian Brex had officially graduated with the rank of Lieutenant, junior grade. He had looked through all the available assignments and chosen the _Triton_, the next _Luna_-class vessel to be launched. Its commanding officer had not yet returned his message, asking for his assignment to that vessel, but he expected it any day. Immediately after his graduation, he had taken two weeks leave to return to Bolarus and greet his nephew, his sister's child, who had been named in honour of their grandfather. After returning to Starfleet, he had stayed on Earth deciding on his assignment. While reading a copy of an ancient Earth text, the communit in his quarters on Starbase 1 chirped for his attention. He put the book down and turned to the monitor. The face of a middle-aged Trill woman appeared on the screen and he recognised her immediately.

'Lieutenant Brex, this is Captain Astar.'

'Good afternoon, Captain,' Brex replied, sitting straighter in the chair.

'Good afternoon. There has been a change of plans so you need to be on board as soon as possible. We leave at 0800 hours tomorrow morning.'

'I'll leave within the hour, Captain.'

'Excellent. I'm sorry I couldn't give you an answer sooner, and that you won't have as much as you expected to familiarise yourself with the ship, but there has been an incident in the Black Cluster. There's a briefing at 2100 hours tonight. I hope you'll be here by then.'

Brex looked at the chronometer on the wall. He would just have enough time to reach Planitia and get aboard. 'I'll do my best, Captain.'

'I'm sure you will, Astar out.'

Brex moved through his quarters and pulled two holdalls and a duffel from a closet. The duffel and one of the holdalls were already full and the few possessions lying around his quarters, along with the rest of his clothes, went into the second holdall. He exited and locked his quarters three minutes after his conversation with Astar. With haste and purpose, he strode toward the nearest turbolift.

'Computer, when is the next vessel leaving which is bound for Utopia Planitia?'

'The next shuttle is leaving at 1945 hours,' the computer replied.

'What docking port?'

'Berth nineteen.'

'Take me to berth nineteen,' Brex ordered.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


End file.
